


My Bros are the Centerfolds

by SecretGeniusShittyKnight (augopher)



Series: You Could Be My Luck [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Bitty is a sassy minx, Brief ableist language, Deaf Whiskey, Dex knows ASL, F/M, He and Whiskey are ASL bros, Holster has a big dick, Holster is a flirty drunk, Lardo drags the guy tho, Lardo is the best, Latino Whiskey, M/M, Pining Holster, Pinup calendar, Pre-Slash, Whiskey is totally thirsty for Dex, charity calendar, seemingly unrequited crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 03:32:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7297768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augopher/pseuds/SecretGeniusShittyKnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Samwell University hosts a charity fundraising drive. Holster gets the idea for the team to do a charity pin-up calendar simply because the LAX bros are having a car wash, and they can't be allowed to win.</p><p>That's it. That's the story</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Bros are the Centerfolds

**Author's Note:**

> Fic has a full size calendar for 2016 (On purpose since it is 2015 in the fic) that can be found [here](http://secretgeniusshittyknight.tumblr.com/post/146456040977/my-bros-are-the-centerfolds)  
> It took me forever it seems to make look awesome, so I hope it's blissful for you.
> 
>  
> 
> The characters in this are not my creation, but the work of Ngozi Ukazu from her brilliant comic [Check Please!](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/57705111693) which I suggest you read.

_“I’m the one for a good time call_ ,” Holster sang to himself as he strolled across campus at a languid pace, in no hurry whatsoever to get to class that afternoon. Unseasonably warm, the sun beat down on the skin left exposed by his shorts and muscle shirt. He would probably be sporting a slight sunburn by tomorrow, not that it bothered him any besides the UV rays. Let it never beside that he, Adam Birkholtz, couldn’t handle the heat.

 Across the Lake Quad, he could see a group of people gathered, and it drew his attention away from the song stuck in his head. Rather than continue on to class, he stopped to see what was the draw. His Tuesday afternoon, Intro to Shakespeare, class was a filler class he took to get to fifteen credits, and honestly, he didn’t give a rat’s ass whether or not he failed it. Needless to say, no matter what the topic of the assembly, his class was far less interesting.

 Being at least a head taller than most people had its perks in moments like these when it made seeing the stage--however small--quite simple.

 “And so, to wrap it up, whichever group brings in the most money for charity will win a $1000 shopping spree to the store of their choice. All groups must contain at least five members. Sign ups will be open until next Friday, September 25th. All registered charities are acceptable as are multiple charities for the same group. Fundraisers must be cleared by the event coordinators, but we are pretty flexible. Basically, if it’s legal and doesn’t go against university policy, we’re most likely going to allow it. Thank you.”

 He was about to shrug it off and run the idea of a bake sale by Bitty when he got home, but then...he passed a couple of the LAX bros, MacKarty and Taevyss--or something ridiculous to that extent that belonged to the Douchey Entitled White Guy © group, and yes, Holster realized the line of potential hypocrisy he was skirting at the moment being white and a dude himself. However, though he didn’t think he was douche, that was one of those descriptors you couldn’t know for yourself. You had to ask someone whether it fit you. Plus, he was one of four kids from a working class neighborhood in Buffalo; he wasn’t sure ‘entitled’ fit either. But anyway, he was digressing--talking about how they were totally going to bring in the most money, because who could say no to Samwell’s most attractive and muscular college athletes throwing a car wash for charity? Then, they had the audacity to trash his team, calling the hockey team the least attractive team on campus.

 The fuck they were. Based on the cheekbones of Ransom alone, they came out on top, throw those gorgeous eyes of Nursey into the mix and the combined fashion sense of Ransom, Bitty and Whiskey, and those douchenozzle LAX bros couldn’t hold a candle to the hockey team.

 And nope. Holster could not let the LAX team win at anything but their games, and even then, if he could find a way to put a stop to _that_ , he would be on that faster than a Shea Weber slapshot. Not if he could help it, and he totally could. An idea began to form in his mind, one that quickly replaced every other thought in his head.

Screw Shakespeare.

This was an injustice that would not stand. He pulled out his phone and made an emphatic post in the SMH group text.

  


By the time he pocketed his phone, he was back at the Haus where he found Chowder enjoying his customary afternoon nap on the couch. The same couch that creaked ominously when both Holster and Ransom sat on it the night before. Maybe, when they won, and they _would_ win, they could use the shopping spree to buy a new couch, one without ominous stains and a questionable origin, and one that could support the weight of large hockey players.

 

***

 

“So, wait, what?” Tango’s brows had drawn together in confusion. “Why do you think a calendar will earn more money for charity than a car wash with shirtless LAX bros?”

 Holster pinched the bridge of his nose before pointing his laser back to the TV screen where he’d hooked up his laptop and the quick presentation he’d made. “If you will please direct your attention to figure 2.1 where in I broke down the attractiveness of everyone on our team compared to everyone on their team, you will see that we are simply hotter.”

 “But isn’t that just subjective? Like how do we know it’s accurate?”

 He pointed to Bitty, whom he’d roped into being his assistant--even made him a name tag--and Bitty advanced the slide. “As you can see here, I have gone through our rosters and matched each of us up with a LAX douche that most closely resembles someone on our team. Side by side...no contest. Look here at this beautiful specimen,” he said, pulling up a picture of Ransom. “Note how gazing upon this fine example of male beauty, is like looking at a God. See how his cheekbones could cut glass, and how those dark eyes just draw you in, and don’t even get me started on his skin.”

 “What about my skin?” And was that a hint of trepidation in Ransom’s voice? Oh that would simply not do.

 “Um, it’s flawless, bro. Smooth as silk, lovely and even in tone, a rich, perfect brown. You sir, are a marvel of a beautiful man, and the only guy I could find that was even remotely close to you, is the LAX team’s lone player of color, is Ricky.” He waved at the screen emphatically. “Look right there! Not even close.”

 He swore he could see a tinge of pink coloring Ransom’s cheeks. “Oh...that’s...thanks, man. That’s really flattering of you to say.”

 Holster covered his heart, his face solemn. “I only speak the truth, my friend.” He had Bitty advance the slides through their entire team. “Look here at our two rays of human sunshine. See the smiles on Bitty’s and Chowder’s faces? See how they light up a room? LAX bros wish they had that. See our Ginger Prince, Dex here? Those freckles are glorious and the rest of his skin is like porcelain. The ginger on the LAX team’s skin? Splotchy. Keep dreaming, Thad,” he sassed the picture of the junior lacrosse player on the screen.

 “On our next slide we see our deaf, Latino dreamboat, Whiskey.”

 “Um...yeah, that doesn’t really correlate. How does my being deaf make me a dreamboat?” he asked, hands signing along with his spoken words out of habit.

 Holster circled Whiskey’s eyes with the laser pointer. “Soulful, inquisitive eyes. Look at them, kid. Gaze upon your handsome face. The best I could do for a comparison, is Kippy Martin.” He burst out laughing. “Oh God. I just can’t with these kids’ names, Ransy. They’re terrible. These aren’t nicknames either, by the way. You, Sir,” he centered the pointer in the middle of Whiskey’s chest, “are handsome as hell.”

 Whiskey shrugged as if to say ‘If you say so.”

 “Um, Holster, do you think you can speed this up? I have to leave for practice,” Jack’s said over the Skype call on Bitty’s laptop.

 “Ah yes, thank you for speaking up, Jack.” He waited for Bitty to advance the slide before continuing. “And reason number one why our calendar will earn more money for charity: The glorious ass of Samwell University’s most famous athletic alumnus, Jack Zimmermann." He drew a heart around the picture of Jack's butt on the screen. "People would buy a calendar for a picture of your ass alone, Jack.”

 He looked up to see Nursey with his hand raised. “Go ahead.”

 "This is a pretty professional looking slide show. And you made it in 90 minutes?"

 "Never underestimate an econ major's ability to make charts, graphs, and tables, Nursey."

 “Look, I really have to leave now. Just, Bitty, give me a call later and fill me in, yeah?”

 Bitty smirked, “Sure thing, Jack. Enjoy practice.” When he ended the call, he turned to Holster. “Do you want me to forward the presentation to Shitty since he couldn’t attend the meeting via Skype?”

 “Nope,” he said, resolute. “Shitty took no convincing, none at all. Even volunteered his family’s vacation home in Nantucket for the photo shoot.”

 “Wait a minute.”

 Holster fought back his groan at another question from Tango. “Yes?”

 “If it’s a hockey calendar, why aren’t we shooting at Faber?”

  _Well fuck me, the kid has a valid question._ “Funny you should ask, Tango. Funny you should ask.” When the last slide appeared on the screen, he could no longer contain his excitement. “All right gentleman. Here’s the skinny. We are gonna make a pin-up calendar and make those LAX douchebro’s cry because they lost to us in yet another, on-campus competition. And oh yeah, earn a lot of money for charity.”

 He pressed play on the clip from _Calendar Girls_ he’d embedded in his presentation while he stood off to the side to watch.

 “Dude, you forgot the captions.” There was more than a hint of annoyance in Whiskey’s voice over his mistake.

 “Oh my god. I am so sorry, Whisk. I own a copy of the movie. I can lend it to you to watch if you want.”

 Before Whiskey could answer, Dex wedged his way onto the couch and turned towards him where he began signing the dialogue as best he could. The team had learned early on this year that Dex knew ASL, because his baby sister was born deaf. His signing skills, as Whiskey pointed out, needed work, but in a pinch like this, they seemed to work. Plus, the more the pair of them hung out, the more Dex's signing improved. So it was a win win.

 “Thanks, Will.”

 As the clip ended, Holster looked up and saw Chowder’s face pale. “We have to be naked? Look, I may not be an innocent kid, but I don’t think I can do a nude photo shoot, Holster. I just...no.”

 He gave Chowder a nod. “Don’t worry about it. While I was thinking about it, I figured some of the team might not want to do that, would rather just go shirtless, or maybe fully clothed. And you know what, you pose in whatever amount of clothing you want. It’s the pose, not level of nudity that makes a pin-up shoot. You want to seduce the camera, and by proxy the viewer. So if you want to keep your clothes on, totally fine. Or if you don’t wish to pose at all, I understand that too. I won’t even ask you why you wish to abstain. In fact,” he put on his most serious face, prepared to use his most stern captain’s voice, “if I hear of anyone on the team chirping anyone else about not participating, about remaining fully dressed or pulling a Shitty and posing butt ass naked, it’s a whole practice worth of suicides. Got it? There will be no body shaming either.”

 “That was beautiful, bro,” Ransom said before planting a loud kiss on Holster’s cheek. “Shitty would be proud of you.”

 “Thanks. You know it is my life’s mission to make Shitty proud.” The sarcasm was dripping from Holster’s lips on that one. It wasn’t Shitty whom he wished to make proud, but Ransom. Whatever, he was a big boy, and he’d learn to deal with being totally gone on his best friend.

 “What charity are we earning money for?”

 Who said that….Wow, he didn’t even realize Ollie and Wicky were still here. “Haven’t decided yet, but I’m open to suggestions. You guys in?”

 “Yeah, but only if Ollie and I can be in the same picture,” Wicky said, and no surprises there. Those two spent more time together than even he and Ransom did.

 “Done. Who else do we have?”

 Bitty’s phone buzzed on the table. “Jack says he’s in, but he won’t pose naked. He says...you get him in his underwear.”

 Holster and Ransom both clasped their hands together like in prayer and dipped their chins, before speaking in unison. “We are truly blessed.”

 “Dude,” this was also in unison, as was their cry of “jinx.”

 Dex looked back and forth between the two of them several times. “Anyone ever tell the two of you that you are scarily in sync?”

 “All the time,” they said, once more in unison before sharing a Ransom/Holster Best Friend Handshake ™.

 Slowly, the crowd in the Haus filtered out, and they only had eleven months taken care of, but then his phone rang with a call from Johnson, of all people (honestly, Holster hadn't even called the guy) stating that his participation was a necessary contrivance for the the plot. So of course he was in.

 Did Holster ever tell you how weird their former goalie was? No? Well Johnson, was weird as fuck. Okay?

 When the room had quieted down, Holster looked up to see Whiskey sitting on the couch playing with a snagged thread on his jeans. The room, except for the two of them was completely empty. So, obviously Whiskey had stuck around for something. Holster plopped down beside him, startling the hell out of him. “Sorry, kid,” he said, making sure to face him. “I didn’t neglect the captions on purpose. I swear.”

 After taking the extra couple of seconds he usually took, to fully contextualize the words he’d read on Holster’s lips--as Whiskey had explained once, only bilabial, labiodental, and interdental consonants were  _easy_ to lipread. Plus he said something about phonemes and visemes, but he’d lost Holster somewhere around bilabial. Lipreading, he’d said, requires context and an extra bit of time to interpret sometimes. He missed a lot of the words he saw, so he needed to think about the sentence as a whole to understand what was said--Whiskey shook his head. “No, it’s not that. It’s okay. I’m used to people just not knowing what to do with me sometimes.”

 Holster tried not to feel like a kicked puppy at the sadness in the poor kid’s voice. Honestly, Whiskey always had a hint of sadness or apprehension in his voice, and it was a little worrisome. Maybe he was like Jack and suffered from General Anxiety Disorder. Hopefully, that was all it was. “What’s up?”

 “I don’t want to pose shirtless,” he said, signing along, before realizing there was no reason to sign with him, seeing as Holster did not know sign language. “Sorry. It’s habit.”

 Holster kind of understood where he was coming from, having seen the faded scars on Whiskey’s chest that traveled around his right pectoral, the one that ran the length of his sternum, and the little puncture mark under his right arm that looked like it came from a chest tube. When Tango asked about them, Whiskey mentioned they were from a surgery and never elaborated, but Holster assumed they had to do with how he lost his hearing and it was a difficult subject for him to talk about. After that day, Whiskey always turned around when he changed his shirt, always faced the wall in the showers. “I meant what I said. You can pose in whatever amount of clothing you want. No one is going to make you take your photo for the calendar shirtless, and if they try to, come tell me.”

 Whiskey nodded, saying nothing more on the matter. He was quiet for a moment. “So, you said you were undecided on charities. Can I make a suggestion?”

 “Yeah, go ahead.”

 “Well, um, when I was still in the hospital, one of the nurses gave my vovó the contact information for the American Society for Deaf Children. They helped her find a private ASL teacher who would come to my hospital room. I mean I was in there a _long_ time. They help parents with resources on education. I went to summer camps they sponsored from ages nine to like fifteen. We were having trouble with our prior landlord who refused to install a video entry system or let us install our own visual doorbell, and Vovó D reached out to them to see if they had any guidance. They put her in touch with someone at the National Association for the Deaf. I mean, they really helped her, and me over the years. And I know, charities for blind individuals or persons with a visual impairment tend to receive more funding because it’s not as invisible a disability like being Deaf is, but do you think we could raise money for them?”

 Sounded reasonable. “That sounds like a perfect candidate.”

 Whiskey’s face lit up. “Really? That’s awesome, Adam. And hey, do you think I could borrow that movie? I love Helen Mirren.”

 The way the kid refused to call anyone by their hockey nicknames was an endearing quirk. Holster clapped him on the back. “You and me both, Whiskey.”

 

***

 

**Lardo**

 

Lardo shifted in her director’s chair, the same director’s chair Shitty had purchased and then painted her name on. It looked like crap, because his handwriting _always_ looked like crap, but it was a sweet gesture, and therefore she loved the hell out of that chair. Plus he covered the frame with stickers. She loved it even if their ‘esteemed’ photographer told her it looked like a child had decorated it. The joke was on him though, because Shitty was pretty much a child, a swearing, often nude, mustachioed and weed-smoking twenty-two year old child.

 Speaking of the professional they’d hired, he was a pretentious dick. Case in point? The guy was named Hypolite Beauregarde Boisfranc and was absolutely _not_ French. She’d done her research. The guy had changed his name to one that sounded more prestigious. Still, one of her theater major friends had highly recommended his work, said he’d done her headshots and they were amazing.

 So, she hired the guy, insisting that yes, they could meet his price requirement. Hello, they had a professional athlete taking part. They could afford him.

 However, the first couple of shoots hadn’t gone well, the boys didn’t warm up to the guy. Dex had outright scowled and then thrown a belligerent “Fuck you!” at the guy when he’d asked how in the hell he was supposed to make a ginger look sexy.

 And yet…

 That was nothing to what she was watching happen right now. Whiskey, quiet Whiskey had shown up in a tight t-shirt and a tiny pair of bikini briefs. She thought he looked amazing, but then again, the kid would probably look good in a burlap sack. He was, for lack of a better descriptor, extremely pretty.

 Hypolite--seriously, what the fucking fuck. Why would you pick that as a name when you could have literally, _anything_ else?--didn’t seem to think so.

 “Are you kidding me? A t-shirt? How are you going to seduce the camera like that?” he grumbled, and Whiskey just stood there, staring at him, eyes the size of saucers and brows drawn together in confusion.

 Hypolite waved a hand in Whiskey’s direction as he adjusted his camera with the other, not even bothering to look up at him. “Fine then, be a prude. Pose or something.”

 Whiskey looked over at her, shrugging and holding up his hands as if to say, “What?”

 She hopped down from her chair, faced Whiskey and repeated what Hypolite had said. Then, she watched the confusion in his face fade and give way to annoyance. “I’m not a prude! I’m self-conscious. I don’t want to be bare-chested, and they told me I didn’t have to be.”

 Lardo heard Hypolite mutter under his breath and calmly, but sternly told him that he is going to need to face Whiskey when he speaks, because he was deaf. Well, and if that just didn’t beat all, because it seemed like the asshole went out of his way after that to completely _avoid_ looking at Whiskey when he spoke.

 This, of course, only made Whiskey grow increasingly more irritated. Annoyance turned to anger, and she eventually had to take Hypolite aside and tell him he needed to comply or they would find another photographer.

 His response was to tell her it was not his job to hold some retarded kid’s hand, and well, she went off on him. Let it never be said that Larissa Duan was a shrinking violet when angry. She could be downright confrontational if the situation called for it, and it called for it, especially when she heard the door slam shut after Whiskey had stormed out. He’d obviously been able to read Hypolite’s lips with perfect clarity when he’d uttered that slur.

 She fired the photographer on the spot and took matters into her own hands.

 

***

  


**Tango**

 

“Are you sure this is a good look, Lardo? Aren’t cutoffs considered like...80’s are something?” Tango asked as he stood there against the shed off to the side of the Knight family’s beach house.

 “Relax, kid. You look good.”

 He looked down at his shorts. “But who’s pants am I wearing? They’re a little snug in the hips. Can we fix that?”

 Lardo rolled her eyes at him. “They’re Shitty’s. Honestly, did you think anyone else had pants like that?”

 He awkwardly moved trying to look seductive like she’d instructed. How the hell was he supposed to do that? His “experience” consisted of a couple instances of awkward making out and a very lackluster handjob. “But why am I in cutoffs? I …”

 “We were going for the farmer’s son look on you?”

 “Why? I’m from Minneapolis? I have never been on a farm in my life.”

 Lardo’s exasperated groan did little to set his nerves at ease. “You have that wholesome, Midwest vibe going on, Tony.”

 “ _That_ is stereotyping!”

 Nevertheless, he continued doing his best to contort his body the way he’d seen in various magazines, but _Men’s Health,_ he decided was probably not the best source of inspiration. And so finally, he gave up and slid down the wall, resting his elbow on his bent knee. What the hell was he going to do? No one was going to want a calendar with his miserable attempts at pictu-

 “Don’t move a muscle, Tango.”

 He opened his mouth to ask what the hell was the problem--Was there a bee on him? Oh God, he hated bees. Get it off--when he saw her press the button.

 “That last one was perfect. You’re done. Sorry about the shorts.”

 Confused about how the dejected look on his face could any way be considered seductive, he walked off towards the house. Maybe there was pie. Oh please let there be pie.

 

***

 

**Ollie and Wicky**

 

“Dude, why the hell are you naked? I thought we coordinated our underwear selections!” Ollie shrieked when he saw his best friend stroll down the path from the beach house to the little patio on the side of the house wearing naught but his birthday suit. “And dude, your dick is totally on display.”

 Wicky looked down at his naked body and shrugged. “So what? You see me naked literally _every_ day in the locker room. Why is this any different?”

  _Well_ , Ollie thought, _for starters, in the locker room I do everything I can not to see your dick_. Seeing Wicky in all his naked glory, with the mid morning sunlight casting the most perfect glow on his skin was unfair. Okay?

 So, there they sat next to one another on folding patio stools. Ollie wasn’t quite sure what ‘bring the smoulder’ meant. He figured it meant stare at the camera.

 Wicky, however, decided it meant to _not_ look at the camera and play hard to get, occasionally poking Ollie in the arm and giggling.   _I mustn’t look._

 It wasn’t going well.

 “See something you like?” Wicky cooed.

 No. Not at all. Ollie absolutely did _not_ like all the beautiful, bare skin sitting on the stool next to him, and not because he had a problem with seeing it. It was just…

 He had a problem with _everyone_ else seeing it.

 

***

 

**Chowder**

 

“I don’t know, Lardo. Who wears a suit jacket with no shirt under it? It seems silly. My dad wears suits every day for work. I’m pretty sure he’d agree with me.” Chowder fiddled with the pocket square in the navy blazer she’d given him to wear.

 “Chowder, I love you, but let’s not bring your dad into the conversation we are having while shooting pictures of his son for a pin-up calendar. Just a little too weird.”

 He shifted on his chair. He could do this. What would Shitty say here? ‘Chowder, you magnificent man, you are a confident, attractive being with a fully developed sexual identity. Own that shit, brah.’ Yeah that sounded about right. Still, he had never even taken a racy selfie to send to Farmer. He _thought_ about taking a sexy selfie for Farmer, but hadn’t crossed that bridge.

  _Okay, Chris. The camera is your hot, smart, and fierce girlfriend. Pretend it’s that night you two first slept together. Yeah. That was a_ **_great_ ** _night. You got this._

 His first pose post internal pep-talk was ridiculous. He was pretty sure his tongue was sticking out like an excited puppy. Not exactly what he’d been going for. Neither was the second pose. But then, Lardo said she was gonna take a quick break.

  _You’re blowing this. You can do better. PUT ON YOUR GAME FACE, CHOW!_

 A few minutes later, Lardo returned with Farmer, who was still in her bikini from the game of volleyball happening down on the beach.

 “Hey there, hot stuff,” she said with a wink to her boyfriend. “Looking pretty damn fine.”

 He blushed. He knew he did, and he was pretty sure by the way Farmer smirked at him, she knew he did too.

 Before he could think of anything to say, she had crossed the room and whispered in his ear, “I think you look very sexy this way, just a hint of skin showing.” He shivered as her hot breath ghosted over his skin. “Give ‘em a taste of what they can’t have. You know what would make it look even better?”

 He gulped and shook his head. Instead of saying a word, she stood between his legs and pushed them apart.

“If you posed like this, and maybe pictured me naked, standing….you know what?” She sauntered over to Lardo, and Chowder couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Lardo shrugged and told her to knock herself out.

 Confused, he tried to figure out what was happening, but then Farmer’s bikini top hit him in the face, and suddenly ‘seducing the camera’ got a whole lot easier.

 

*******

 

**Johnson**

 

I know what you’re thinking as I stand here showing all that my mama gave me. You’re wondering, “What the hell is _he_ doing here? He appears in like five panels.”

 I agree with you, but as a former member of Samwell’s 50 Most Beautiful Students…my inclusion seemed inevitable, didn’t it?

 Well, to be honest, I was picked because, there haven’t been enough named characters introduced to fill twelve months of Samwell Men’s Hockey calendar pages with Ollie and Wicks choosing to pose together.

 Strange.

 I know what you’re thinking now. You want to know why the author didn’t just create an original character to fill the month of October, aren’t you? I suspect it has little to do with staying true to canon seeing as the author has pages upon pages of headcanons about a character with three lines so far. I may have been out in the wilderness too long, but I don’t recall seeing anything by the Great Creator about a certain Latino Tadpole, but aye, that’s the rub.

 I am here, merely as a plot contrivance, and let’s be honest, I’m not real. But hey, I’ve been keeping in shape. I mean look!

 My ass is truly on point.

 

***

 

**Dex**

 

When he was younger, Dex’s mom had told him each freckle was blessing, or some nonsense like that. He, of course, had never believed her. She hadn’t been cursed with ‘gingervitis’ (thank you _South Park._ He did, in fact, have a soul. Thank you very much). Her lovely blonde hair and fair skin remained mark free. She would _never_ understand the derision kids could throw his way. Being a girl with red hair? That was a good thing. A boy with red hair and covered in freckles? Well, suddenly, you were some kind of freak. As he got older he learned that it meant you weren’t attractive, a thing to be ridiculed. He wasn’t inexperienced, but often he wondered if those two times had been pity fucks.

 Still, he knew he had a nice body, worked many long hours in the weight room. Someone had once told him he had nice eyes, plus he was smart. Surely, there was a guy out there for him.

 “You know, I am surprised you’re not naked. You seem like a guy who is totally okay with who he is,” Lardo said as she arranged the room how she wanted it.

 “So what if I am? No one wants to see all my damn freckles and frankly, I don’t want people around campus coming up to me and saying that the carpet does in fact match the drapes.”

 She shrugged and switched out the filter on the camera. “Whatever, Dex. You do you.”

 “Thank you, I will.”

 “Just,” she pointed the camera in his direction, “scowl or do your thing or whatever.”

 His mouth fell open, about to correct her and state that was just his resting face when Whiskey walked into the room. The kid--oh who the hell was Dex kidding? Whiskey was only three months younger than him--stopped and held up his hands in apology.

 “Sorry.  I thought the room was empty.”

 Dex tried to ignore him and get back to work, but the fact that Whiskey lingered in the peripherals of his vision was not lost upon him, nor was the way Whiskey didn’t take his eyes off him.

 

***

 

**Whiskey**

 

Rafa balanced on the fence that lined the walkway from the house down to the beach, staring out at the waves. Ever since he’d stormed out of his disastrous shoot, he’d refused to go back inside, even when Larissa had come out to check on him.

 “I can’t work with him,” he’d said, “I’m not against showing skin. I would totally do it, if it was good skin to look at. It’s not like I have a crop top or anything,” and she’d placed a calming hand on his shoulder before telling him that he wouldn’t have to, that she’d fired him.

 He would get another chance to do his shoot, with her as the photographer. That had settled his nerves a bit, and yet…

 Here he was, sulking. If Vovó D were here, she’d say, “Rafinha, you are not sulking. That is a word reserved for either petulant children or adults acting like them. Being genuinely hurt by the words and actions of someone else is not sulking.” She’d be right, of course.

 It still felt like sulking.

 Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He looked back towards the house to see Will coming down the path being as conspicuous as possible. When Will pointed next to him on the fence railing, a silent question asking if Rafa would like company, he nodded. Will nudged his arm and handed him a tube of sunscreen.

 “Wouldn’t want you get sunburned out here alone,” he said while giving a valiant attempt at signing.

 “You’re getting better at that.” Rafa chuckled at the pink hue that rushed to the surface of Will’s cheeks. Blushing was a good look on him; he’d tell him as much one day when he was braver.

 “Thanks. Hanging out with you is helping a lot.”

 “See! That sentence was almost perfectly signed.”

 Will gave him a sheepish shrug. “I’ve been watching a lot of Youtube videos to learn new ones.”

 “That’s great. Hannah will appreciate that effort.”

 The look Will gave him said his sister’s benefit wasn't the only reason he’d been practicing, but Rafa thought it best not to push. “So, I heard Lardo telling Holster that you would show off your stomach if we could find you a crop top.” The rest of his words came out too quickly, too poorly signed for Rafa to follow, and he stared at him with large owlish eyes. After a moment, Will realized his mistake. He gave Rafa a friendly pat on the knee. “Sorry. I was...excited I guess,” he signed without speaking. “But no one had a crop top but Lardo, and trust me, that thing is not going to fit you.” He laughed. “Tiny, and well, um...you’re not. So…”

 The blush was back and spread down the back of Will’s neck. Rafa had been told on more than one occasion that he had one hell of a poker face. It was true; he couldn’t argue with that. Relying on his other senses to understand the world and make up for the one he was missing required, at least for him, a good handle on his emotions. It was hard to follow a conversation if you were frustrated, ecstatic, or angry. But damn, he really liked the way the color looked on Will’s fair skin.

 “I found a set of hockey chest pads in the garage. I mean they’re roller hockey pads I think, but they fit me, and covered my chest. So...I think they should cover yours.”

 Wrapping an arm around Will’s shoulders, he gave him a one-armed hug. “Thanks, man.”

 “And thanks to you, we get to work with Lardo instead that asshole.”

 “Well, I’m pretty sure that was her doing. I just got hit with a plain old case of ableism. She’s the one that fired him.”

 “And your contributions to the matter should not be downplayed.” Will held out his fist, and Rafa bumped his own against it.”

  


*******

 

**Ransom**

 

His tiniest pair of underwear pulled down low on his hips to expose the top curve of his ass, Ransom reached his arms up and behind his head. He made sure to suck in to accentuate his abs and show off his obliques. Having never done any sort of modeling, he had though, on a fair few of occasions, posed in front of a mirror to see the results of his workouts. Therefore, he knew exactly how to contort his body to get the best picture.

 It helped that Holster had plopped down in the seat next to Lardo to cheer him on. And Ransom did mean cheer.

 “Ahhh get it, bro! That’s what I’m talking about!” Holster shouted through a sport cone he’d found in the garage.

 Ransom shook his head at his best friend’s antics, but he had to admit, they sure did give him confidence. The wolf whistles were probably a bit much if Lardo’s exasperated expression was anything to go by.

 Still, he couldn’t be bothered by it all. Since introducing the calendar idea, Holster had gone out of his way to compliment his teammates and try his best to install body confidence. It was nice and seemingly inspired the rest of the guys to do the same.

 Here was the thing though.

 You could be fully aware of what you looked like and know that you were attractive without being arrogant. An awkward six months after a puberty related growth spurt aside, Ransom had never been self-conscious of his looks. Sure, he’d dealt with veiled racism from the outside, from the media that tried its best to convince him, and he assumed other black men, that they were not sexy, or more accurately...ONLY sex.

 But Ransom hadn’t let those messages get to him. Having his father as a strong and confident role model helped a lot. “Justin,” he’d said, “never let anyone else dictate your self-worth. You are a wonderful person, intelligent, athletic, good son and friend. That you also favor your mother in the looks department is an added bonus. The world is gonna try and beat you down, make you hate yourself. Don’t let them.”

 That conversation had always stuck with him. So yeah, he felt pretty damn sexy posing for these pictures, and he didn’t care that he’d be objectified and probably lusted over because of the photos.

 It was for charity.

 

***

 

**Nursey**

 

Nursey adjusted the necklaces hanging around his throat, wondering what it was that made him chicken out from his ‘Hell yes, I’ll pose nude,’ to ‘Um, I don’t know. I think I’ll just lose my shirt.” He was comfortable with his appearance, had grown up in a thoroughly body positive household. So he couldn’t figure out why he suddenly would feel too nervous about it.

 Hell, he’d even called home and discussed it with his moms, both the pros and the cons to it, and they were supportive of whatever he chose. So, he’d walked into the sunroom at Shitty’s family beach house. Lardo had hung a backdrop, and he’d been totally ready to drop trou as they say, when he clammed up.

A moment to collect himself, that was all he needed. And so, he stepped outside and basked in the early October sun. The heatwave that had plagued the end of September had lingered over the area, and he, for one, enjoyed the temperatures in the eighties.

“Performance issues?”

Shaken out of his reverie, he looked over to see Holster nursing a cocktail, something oddly green like it could glow in the dark. For a moment, he considered asking what the hell Holster was drinking, but the guy beat him to the punch.

“Yeah...I don’t know what it’s called. All’s I know is that it contains Midori, SoCo, peach schnapps, tequila, and champagne. Ransy raided the Knight’s liquor cabinet and made it up, and it’s fucking delicious. I’m working on my third one of these. Should make for an interesting shoot.” He sighed. “God, I hope I don’t embarrass my mother.”

Nursey shook his head with a chuckle. “Because you’re gonna be shitfaced after one and a half of those?”

“No,” Holster laughed. “I am gonna be full ass naked for this thing. I thought it would be good for my self-esteem. Apparently, I am...endowed. Who knew?”

 “Who told you that?”

 “Bitty caught a glimpse earlier. I trust his assessment.”

 Nursey looked over at him. “Wait….I was under the impression that you and Ransom brought a lot of girls up to the attic. Not one of them ever thought to um...mention it?”

 “The rumours of my sexual conquests have been greatly exaggerated.” He held up four fingers. “That’s it. Four people. Not really a lothario. And no. I’m a… grower. Irrelevant though. What’s got you out here instead of wowing the camera with that face of yours?”

 With a raised and inquisitive eyebrow, Nursey hoped his face conveyed the confusion he felt.

 “Oh come on! Like you don’t know you have a face that could make angels weep. Screw full-frontal, Nurse. Lardo should take that camera and zoom in on those eyes of yours, the way you can undress someone with them.” He took a long drink from his cocktail.

 Nursey felt his face flame. “Really?”

 “‘Really’ what? Like you don’t know you’re one beautiful fucker.” Holster looked over, his gaze full of sass.

 “I can’t be naked in there. I tried. It’s…not-”

 "Look,” Holster said, pointing his glass at him, “I was serious, honest to god, ready to fight for all your honors’, when I said you pose wearing as little or as much as you want. Aside from Haze-a-palooza there will be no hazing on this team. And honestly, that shit is pretty tame compared to the stories I got from Juniors.”

 Nursery studied him for a minute, the hitch in his voice did not go unnoticed, but he felt that was a conversation for another time.

 “Look, Nursey, Nurse….Derek, I’m saying this as one of your captains, who is totally bisexual, like….if I had to put a percentage on it…..68.375% for the D, you, sir, are one sexy fucker. All you need is that face. If being naked for the camera makes you nervous, don’t be. Enough people would buy it even if you wore a parka.” With that, Holster, slammed back the last of his drink.

 “I would say slow down, but you’re a big dude. I think you can hold your booze.”

He shrugged. “It’s not the shoot that has me nervous.” With that, he was gone.

Derek, however, feeling emboldened by their conversation, strutted back into the sunroom with a bright and full grin on his face. He looked at Lardo, mentioned that he’d like to focus on his torso and face. She seemed game.

 His pants stayed on.

 

***

 

**Bitty**

 

“Okay, now look back at me for this one,” Lardo said from behind the lens of Jack’s fancy DSLR.

 How did Bitty know it was fancy? Because he was there when Jack bought it. The fact the thing cost almost as much as a massive 4k TV was a little scary. But when you have the kind of salary that Jack had, Bitty supposed you could drop almost seven grand on a camera and not break a sweat.

 “How about you try not smiling so big this time, Bits?”

 Wha- Oh, his face must have been doing that thing it does when he thinks of Jack. “Are you saying my smile isn’t sexy? Why, Lardo, I’m hurt.”

 “I am saying nothing of the sort. It just makes you look too young for a calendar of this kind. Give me sultry. I know you can.”

 Oh he could do sultry. Anyone who thought otherwise had obviously never seen him dance to Queen Bey in his room when he was alone. He channelled his inner pop diva and gave Lardo his best “Crazy In Love”...the remix, the one he may or may not have choreographed a sexy little striptease to in case he ever got up the courage to give Jack the show of his life. Honestly, his body rolls were on point by now.

 He looked over his bare shoulder a bit, trying to look the part of a coquet, but he was not sure how successful that was. You know what would be successful?

 Having said “Sure I’ll do it. If Jack poses with me.”

 Still, he looked good. He’d committed to it, once more donned eyeliner the way he often had when figure skating.

 “Looking good, Bits. One more for good measure.”

 When he heard the click of the shutter, he bounded out of the room, just itching to be back in the water. While the rest of the guys except Chowder were complaining about the heat, Bitty would be soaking up the sun with glee.

 Jack snagged his arm just as he stepped out of the fenced in backyard and nuzzled into his neck.

 “My! Aren’t we feeling frisky, Mr. Zimmermann!”

 “Mmm. Can’t help it. You looked so good. I like this,” he said running a thumb under Bitty’s lower lashes. “You should wear it more often. Is it insulting if I tell you it makes you look really pretty?”

 “I’ll have you know, though you have the best ass, I am the prettiest one here. This,” he mimed circling his face with his finger, “is all my momma.”

 He felt rather than heard Jack chuckle against his collarbone. “I’ll have to send her a thank-you card some day.”

 Bitty gave Jack’s chest a playful shove. “Was that a chirp?”

 “Maybe.”

 “I see how it is.” He kissed Jack’s nose, then sauntered away from him, and as he made his way down to the beach, Bitty called back to him, “See if I save you space on my beach blanket!”

 

***

 

**Shitty**

 

“So, whaddaya think, Lards?” Shitty asked, as he stretched out on the couch in the formal living room.

 “I think your grandmother would throw a fit if she knew your bare ass was all over that couch.”

 He clasped his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. “God, I know. It’s s’awesome, isn’t it? She’ll come down here for vacation with her bridge group, and all those stuffy ladies will sit around this room discussing where they should go for brunch. And my naked ass will have been ALL OVER THE PLACE IN HERE!”

 Lardo rolled her eyes at him. “Taking passive aggression to Bitty levels there aren’t you?”

 “This isn’t passive aggressive! This.is.subterfuge!” He shook his fist at the ceiling while he mimicked King Leonidas’s ‘This is Sparta!’

 “Whatever you say, Shits. Okay, I have like ten pictures of you just lying there talking with your hands while you rant. Try something else, yeah?”

 He rolled over onto his stomach, pushing the pile of ‘uppity art mags’ towards the edge of the couch. Some of them tumbled onto the floor. “You mean like this?” He pulled out every piece of smoulder he had for the camera. “Cause this is even better! I didn’t think about rubbing my junk all over the upholstery. But that’s genius. Lards, you have the best plans. I could kiss you right now!”

 She smirked at him. “Let’s finish the shoot, and then, we can _really_ defile the place.”

 “Oh yeah?”

 “Oh yeah.”

 

***

 

**Jack**

 

“Why am I the only one who has to pose in the water?” Jack absolutely did not whine at Lardo as she gave him a gentle shove towards the rocky outcrop a little further down the beach.

 “Not in the water. On the rocks.”

 “Why?”

 “I dunno. This was a combined idea of Shitty, Ransom, and Holster. They thought the rocks would compliment your sharp cheekbones.”

 Grumbling, he stripped out of his swim trunks, because after all, he had promised he’d pose in naught but his underwear. Why, it had to be a tiny pair of white briefs, he’d never figure out. And so, he maneuvered himself to stable footing, and tried to remember his maman’s advice on taking a good photo.

 Hell, she’d told him so many times, he was surprised it wasn’t on the forethought of his mind every day. Still, when he’d been filled in on the fundraiser idea, he’d called her, and had a lengthy conversation about posing. Look, he could take a roster picture, could smile in a selfie with Bitty, even pose with fans.

 It was something else entirely, to contort his body in a way to convey as much sex appeal as possible.

 “Jack, I hate to be indelicate...wait, no I don’t. You’re a handsome guy, great face, but what is really going to sell the calendar is-”

 He quirked an eyebrow at her. “My ass?”

 “Yes. Now find a way to use what your mama gave you.”

 He snorted out a laugh. “Yeah…you mean what my dad gave me?”

 “That too.”

 Somehow, after a few more minutes, she managed to convince him to lay on the rocks, which was wholly unpleasant. Their edges dug into his elbows, forearms, stomach, and anywhere else that touched them.

 He figured that in about three minutes he’d need to stop or risk bruising most of his arms. Instead, he gave it one last go, propped himself up on his forearm, and sort of ...scowled at the camera for lack of better word.

 Whatever, it would have to be good enough. He just wasn’t cut out for this sort of thing.

 

***

 

**Holster**

 

Four Grunches and six hours into his day, and Holster was feeling pretty damn carefree. What were Grunches? That suspicious looking concoction Ransom created when some of the guys expressed their nerves for the shoot turned out to taste ah-fucking-mazing. So, naturally, the cocktail needed a name, and somehow they managed a portmanteau of Grinch, brah, and brunch. Ta-da. They were pretty smart.

 He’d gone for a swim in the ocean, played a rousing game of beach volleyball, and would probably be sporting a nice tan tomorrow. All in all, a pretty good day. However, though he’d spent so much time talking up the guys’ looks to boost their confidence, he’d somehow not managed to feel that confident about himself. That was…

 Until Grunch number three.

 About halfway through the drink, he’d wandered into Ransom’s shoot with a drink in one hand, and orange soccer cone in the other. As he squawked his compliments at his best friend, he couldn’t help but enjoy the show. And it was one hell of a show. Fuck, how the guy could pose.

 It was inspiring...and highly arousing.

 Let it never be said that a drunken Adam Birkholtz wasn’t a frisky and flirty drunk. Cause he was. And he was gonna rock this shoot so hard-

 He burst into a fit of giggles as he walked out onto the pool deck for his shoot.

 “What is so funny?”

 He continued giggling at his double entendre. “Nothing.”

 Lardo lowered her brows at him. “You’re drunk aren’t you?”

 “Oh I’m on my way to totally trashed.”

 She groaned and scrubbed a hand down her face. “Tell me you’re still with it enough to pose.”

 He pointed at her. “I am so with it, I am like the cheese to your macaroni.”

 “Oh my God. Whatever you’re gonna do, just do it before you ralph on the tile.”

 “Okay, hey… One, I’m not nearly drunk enough for that, and two? I’m not a drunken vomiter.”

 She threw up her hands in exasperation before waving him off. “You gonna wear that?”

 He looked down at his tank top and board shorts. “Nope,” the ‘p’ popped off his lips.

 “Then get with-” Her words were cut off by his shirt and trunks hitting the tile by her feet. “Okay. Go on. Do your naked thing.”

 For every click of the shutter, he imagined it as Ransom winking in approval at Holster’s photo shoot. If only that were true. Still, he tried his best to ‘make love to the camera’ as it were, even went so bold as to pose full-on, full-frontal at the camera. He was pretty sure there was a cocky grin in that photo. At least he hoped that was what happened.

 Eventually, though, the last drink began to make him sway a bit, and so, he sat down and basked in the blissful warmth of the pool deck. When he heard a soft, almost whimper come from near the sliding glass door, he cast a quick glance in its direction to find Ransom standing there with his mouth open, eyes glazed.

 Oh ho! What was this little development?

 When it became obvious to his inebriated brain, that Ransom did not realize Holster was aware of his audience, he went for the kill and stretched out on the tile, and by stretched, he meant really went for it.

Hands behind his head, back slightly arched, he looked over at the camera that Ransom now stood beside, and raised an eyebrow. After he heard the click, he sat up. “Well, I think I’m about done. You get enough?”

“Yes. Now get out of here.”

Het picked up his clothes from the tile. “Hey, Rans. Let’s go convince the Taddy’s to play chicken with us.

“Why?” Ransom squeaked out.

“Because we like chicken?”

“No, I meant…” he trailed off and pointed to Holster’s crotch.

“Oh the naked thing? Because someone said showing my big dick was a service to the world.”

 

***

 

**Epilogue**

 

Stuffed full of Thanksgiving dinner, Holster sat wedged onto the couch between two of his sisters as the family watched the annual evening football game. He could feel the food coma coming on, and his eyelids had just started to droop, when he heard his mother call his name. “Huh?”

 “I forgot to tell you. Our calendars arrived yesterday. I hadn’t opened them yet.”

 He looked over the back of the couch to see his mom standing there holding a box. “Calendars? The team’s calendars?” He felt his blood run cold.

 “Of course, sweetie. What other one could I be talking about?”

 The noise he made was undignified at best. “I…see. Well, thank you for supporting our charity fundraiser." The calendars, just as he knew they would, were selling like hotcakes. He suspected it was mostly to do with Samwell's most famous athlete alumnus showing that glorious ass of his, but he was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. By his calculations, and Ransom's spreadsheet, they surpassed the LAX bros' car wash LONG ago. That new Haus couch was within their grasp. "Just a question out of curiosity, humor me. Exactly how many did you buy?”

 “I bought one for every teacher in the school. I wanted to brag about my son the college hockey player, thought they could show off your team.”

 In a flash, Holster had extricated himself from the couch and snatched the box from his mother’s hands, bound for the office and his mother’s supply of reward stickers for her students.

 “Adam, honey, what’s the matter?”

 His panicked response came out as only a garble of syllables as he hurried in a mad dash to get stickers in the necessary location. Lardo had been coy about which photos had been selected for each month, and he hadn’t even seen a copy yet. He was abjectly terrified that she’d used one of his full-frontal shots, and the thought had him about to throw up his dinner.

 “What are you doing?”

 Thankfully, as he looked at February, it wasn’t one of _those_ shots, but it was bad enough. He slapped a blue sticker over his photographed crotch. “Editing.”

 “Why do you need to edit a team hockey calendar.”

 Boom! Another sticker on another calendar.

 “Not that kind of calendar, Mom.”

 She picked up one of the altered copies from the desk, and he glanced over at her just in time to see her face turn bright red. “Oh, I see. Um…”

 “Yeah, the thought of not only my mother, but my Kindergarten through fifth grade teachers seeing my dick makes me want to go live under a rock. So if you could just back away, I’ll give these back to you when I’m done.”

 She turned and left the room, looking just about as embarrassed as Holster felt.

 Ten minutes of pure panic later, he returned to the living room, box of calendars in hand. Without a word, he handed them back to her. His mother, thank God, sat there holding the box and didn’t take a peek inside.

 His dad, however, was more curious than a freaking cat, and pulled one out of the box. “Really, son? You couldn’t have picked a less suggestive sticker?”

 “What?” He’d been so frantic to get his junk covered up he hadn’t even noticed his choice of sticker, until his dad turned the calendar around, and Holster found himself staring at a sticker with a cartoon whale on it and the words ‘Big Accomplishment’ underneath it.

 “Yeah. Though, I suppose it could be worse,” his dad said. “You could have picked a ‘Git Er Done’ sticker.”

 Yes, Holster had to admit, that would indeed be _way_ worse.

**Author's Note:**

> come visit me on [Tumblr](http://secretgeniusshittyknight.tumblr.com)


End file.
